


Mind Games

by Fyre



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 23:43:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3307553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a blow to the head knocks Peggy's recent memories for six, she doesn't have long to unravel the conspiracy she's tangled up in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mind Games

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another tumblr prompt that should have been short. And yet...

Her head was ringing.

Peggy tried to open her eyes, blinking against bright light.

"She's coming to!" A male voice. Unfamiliar. "Carter! Hey, Carter!"

"Do you mind backing off, sir?" Another voice. Not familiar, but less strange. "She needs some air. At least the bleeding has stopped."

Two figures resolved themselves from the blur of light and shadow. Two men. Both in suits.

Peggy tried to gather what she knew: she was wounded and the two men clearly knew who she was. Allies, then, which was something. 

She pushed herself up on one arm. Her vision swam and she closed her eyes, trying to master herself. "Thank you for your assistance, gentlemen," she said, as she slowly pushed herself upright into a sitting position. "I'll be quite all right."

"The hell you will," the younger of the two men said. He was dark-haired and dark-eyed and leaning on a crutch. "Jesus, Carter. The impact could have killed you!"

Peggy peered around, trying to focus, identify her assailant. "Who was it? Did you see?"

The two men exchanged a look.

"Miss Carter," the other man said. "Do you know where you are?"

She tried to gather her wits. The buildings all around looked industrial, and she could smell the silty scent of a tidal river nearby, but it gave her no conclusive answers. It would do no good to anyone to panic. "I'm afraid not," she said, curling her hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

"Concussion?" The younger inquired.

"It seems so," the elder answered. "The ambulance is on its way, regardless."

"That's very kind of you," Peggy said, putting her hand to her head. She felt dizzy, and there was a sharp pain in her temple. "Pardon me. We haven't been introduced, have we?"

The older man was pale, and the other man swore under his breath.

"I'm afraid we have, Miss Carter," he said. 

Peggy squinted at him, as blackness descended.

 

_______________________________________

 

The next time she woke, it was to the quiet murmur of nurses and the scent of antiseptic. It was almost like being back in the field hospital, and Lord only knew how hard she'd had to struggle to get anyone to notice she as capable with more than just a syringe.

One of the two men, the Englishman, was sitting by the bedside as she opened her eyes. His overcoat was gone and his hat was off. Clearly he had made himself comfortable, and had been there for some time.

"Miss Carter?"

"Hello again," she said faintly. Her mouth was dry, and he seemed to realised, rising and fetching water from a pitcher on a small table. They were in a long ward, and outside the windows, the sky was dark. Much later than it had been, then. 

He eased her up and helped her to drink a little. "There," he said, "Better."

"Thank you," she murmured. Her head still ached. "I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name earlier."

"Jarvis," he replied. "Edwin Jarvis."

She frowned at him. "No rank?"

A furrow creased his brow. "Not in quite some time," he said. 

He and the man with the crutch were discharged then. Alas, sometimes it happened to the best men. 

She leaned back against the pillows. "Will Colonel Phillips be coming by?" she asked. "I'll have to make my apologies."

The man stared at her. "Miss Carter, forgive me, but can you tell me what year it is?"

"1944," she said, puzzled. "Why do you ask?"

He rose. "If you'll excuse me," he said. "I think I may need to speak to a doctor."

 

___________________________________________

 

 

She had amnesia, they informed her. Most likely brought on by a severe blow to the head. 

When she asked how much she had forgotten, they could not say.

Colonel Phillips was apparently retired, and had been for some time. The war was over, or so they claimed. She was living and working in New York City.

There was only one reason she could imagine returning to New York on a permanent basis, and she smiled warmly. Of course, he would have got up the courage to approach her eventually, rather than mooning at a distance.

"Would it be possible for you to call on Steve?" she asked, then hesitated. Perhaps it was too much, presuming that familiarity in front of strangers. "That is, Captain Rogers?" If Edwin had grown pale when she said she didn't know him, he went positively grey at her words. Peggy sat up, staring at him. "What is it? Was he injured too?"

Edwin waved the doctors away, and sat down beside the bedside. He hesitated, then cautiously reached out and took her hand. "Miss Carter... Peggy..." He hesitated, swallowing hard. "Captain Rogers was killed in action in 1945. Over a year ago."

Peggy felt like the marrow of her bones had turned to ice. "I beg your pardon?"

"He... there was no alternative. He gave his life to prevent an attack on New York."

Yes, she thought blankly, staring at Edwin. He would have done that. He had almost gotten himself killed more times than she cared to count. Her vision was blurring again, this time with hot tears, and she blinked hard, looking down at her hands, clasped tightly together in her lap.

Edwin's hand moved into her line of sight, holding a handkerchief, and she took it with a nod of thanks. 

Why had she come to New York, then? If he was gone, why come to a place that would only remind her of him? It seemed a fool's errand, wrapping herself up in memories, as if they might restore Steve to her. What if she could never remember the reason?

Edwin was silent and she was grateful for that as she wiped the tears away. They felt like they would never stop.

 

________________________________________

 

She rested that night. Not slept. No. There was no place for sleep, and her head was aching unbearably.

Her memories would return, they assured her, but not before she had to remake some of the worst of them.

The war was over, which was good, but not before a lot of good people had perished. Steve's friend, Barnes, was among the others killed in action. Howard, thankfully, lived, but was elsewhere, presently still trying to prove himself innocent of treason. 

Edwin was his man, apparently. 

Even if she had no idea who he was, she had no choice but to trust him.

She was in an unfamiliar world now, a world that had shifted sideways beneath her, and he assured her he could keep her well out of trouble until her memories returned.

If.

They said they would, but it was very difficult to believe them. She could recall her time on the wards, when men were brought back from the front, concussed and their brains so traumatised that they would only stare into nothing, never moving nor speaking. Some injuries, one would not heal from.

Edwin was very kind. 

He took her to a house outside of the city to recover.

How odd that a fugitive on the run for treason should be waiting to greet her in the parlour.

"Peggy..." Howard was across the floor and embracing her with a great deal more directness that she was accustomed to. Perhaps she had made the journey to be with him? But no. No! That was absolutely absurd! After all, she had some modicum of taste, and Steve...

She pressed her eyes shut, and pulled back from the embrace. "Hello, Howard."

"So you remember me, huh?"

She managed to smile, though it felt tight and forced. "How could I forget?"

Howard flashed his smile, although she knew him well enough to see how forced it was. "You see, Jarvis. I told you I'm unforgettable."

"Yes, sir," Edwin said dryly. "God help us all."

Peggy almost smiled at the sarcasm lacing his words, but only almost. "Am I safe to recover here, Howard?" she asked.

Howard caught her ice-cold hands in his warmer ones. "For as long as you need," he promised.

 

_________________________________________

 

The other man visited shortly after she was installed at Howard's estate.

If he wondered why she was taking refuge in the home of a man on the run for treason, he didn't ask.

Instead, he sat down opposite her, looking her over. "How are you feeling, Carter?"

"Aside from the raging headache?" she asked. It hadn't subsided all that much, and the bandage around her head covered a nasty wound which had been stitched closed. The bruising was substantial, spreading down her forehead and even to her cheekbone on one side.

"You couldn't have known how strong the guy was," the man said. "I know that's not going to be a comfort, but he looked like a regular-sized guy. We had no idea he'd be able to pick up the bollard like it was made of paper."

A bollard.

Well, that explained a few things.

"Do you mind if I ask who you are?" she inquired, meeting his eyes. "I assume a colleague of some description, and from the bulge in your jacket pocket, I would go out on a limb and assume you are carrying a badge of some kind?"

One side of his mouth turned up. "Good to see your brain's still working," he said. He reached into the pocket and withdrew a badge, tossing it over to her. She opened it and touched the metal in surprise.

"You're SSR?"

"Agent Daniel Sousa," he replied. "Office stooge right alongside you."

Edwin had mentioned she was still involved with the SSR, but she had assumed he meant as a retired agent. It seemed that was not the case. She closed the badge away and tossed it back to Sousa. "We are both agents?"

"As much as they'll let us be," he said. 

"Ah." She nodded to his crutch. "We both have our impediments?"

"And that's what got you in trouble," he said. "I didn't get a chance to ask you before, and now, I guess I'll have to wait for an answer."

Peggy frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Why you were running your own investigations," he said. "You were a step ahead of the SSR the whole time, but none of us knew."

"Except you," she observed. "That's why you're here? To find out if I'm a traitor?"

"Or to find out why you did it."

Peggy gazed at him and then looked to his crutch again. "Perhaps," she said, "I grew tired of being overlooked on account of my gender. I certainly was in 1944. I don't imagine I can have changed that much in two years." She met his eyes. "Unless I was respected for my abilities?" From the look on his face, that wasn't the case. "Ah. Then I expect that must be it."

He tried to smile, and it was a kind smile. "I hope so, Carter," he said. "I'd hate to have to arrest you."

She returned the smile with a weak one of her own. "You would have to catch me first."

 

__________________________________________________

 

Howard's house came equipped with an extensive wardrobe for ladies of all shapes and sizes, but Peggy felt somewhat foolish traipsing around in someone else's smalls. 

She felt awkward broaching such a silly topic with Edwin, but he was understanding, and offered to take her to her own residency in the city to fetch her own clothing. She had not even thought of doing such a thing, and accepted gratefully.

It seemed she lived in a grand establishment called The Griffiths.

Edwin handed her a key with a door number on it.

“I’ll be waiting out here,” he said. “I’m afraid the guardian of the door is something of a dragon, regarding men on the premises.”

Peggy looked up at the building. Even from the front, she could see at least half a dozen means a clever man could infiltrate it. Particularly if he was nimble and could climb. She could picture a broad-shouldered blond scaling the wall as if it was a walk in the park.

Her throat felt tight, and she could only nod, before she got out the car.

Several people called out in greeting to her, rushing over to ask what had happened, and if she was all right. She nodded and smiled, insisting she was quite well, but was recovering in a charming house in the country, and that she only needed a few things.

Inside, a girl strode straight up to her. “Jeez, Peg! You look like you were hit by a truck!”

“A bollard, actually,” she replied with an unsteady smile. She looked down at the key in her hand. “I don’t suppose you could tell me where to find my room?”

“Oh god! Of course, sweetie!” The girl looped her arm through Peggy’s. “Have you go amnesia? My cousin, Jackie, he got amnesia when he hit his head off of a table when he was in fifth grade. Well, he said it was amnesia, but I’m pretty sure he just wanted to skip out of the test he was gonna have…”

Peggy smiled and nodded, and scarcely could take in a word as the girl led her up the stairs to the rooms. She stopped in front of a door.

“Here ya go,” she said, with a flourish. “You need help? You didn’t forget what a toothbrush was or anything?”

“No, no,” Peggy said at once. “Just names. Places. A few little things. I’ll be fine from here.”

She went into the room and closed the door behind her, grateful to sit down for a moment. It was astonishing how exhausting the stairs were. Further along the hall, she heard a door close, and supposed the girl must be her neighbour.

She went to the drawers, taking out some clothing, then frowned. One of the drawers had a false bottom. She drew it aside, and found her old jewellery box. Why on earth would she have hidden it in there? 

There were photographs, which looked like corporate espionage.

Peggy sat down on the bed, staring at them. They were Howard’s inventions, of that much she could be certain, but she could think of no good reason for them to be hidden in her drawers. It looked like they were in laboratory of some kind.

Someone tapped at the door, and she hurriedly pushed the box back into the drawer, pocketing the photographs, before she went to the door and opened it. It wasn’t the girl from before, but another woman, taller, slimmer, with blonde curls.

“Hey, Peggy! I heard you were back.” Green eyes looked at her with concern. “Are you okay? They said you’d hurt your head.”

“Yes, a concussion,” Peggy said, wishing it was polite to shut the door in another person’s face. “I’m just going back to the country to rest.”

“The country?”

Peggy waved a hand. “Somewhere not in the city, at least,” she said. “I’m awfully sorry, but I should pack.”

“I can help!” the woman said eagerly, hurrying into the room. “What do you need?”

“Oh, that’s quite unnecessary.”

Dottie turned to her with a smile. “That’s what friends do,” she said, rubbing her hands. “Shall I get stuff from your drawers…” She was already halfway towards the drawer, reaching for the hidden one. The secret compartment was still open.

Peggy was across the floor in a bound and caught her wrist. “Please don’t.”

For a split-second, there was a look of… what? Fear? Anger? Loathing? Peggy couldn’t be sure, but under her hand, she could feel the shift of smooth skin to scar tissue. The woman had been restrained, and for quite some time by the feel of it.

Peggy reached for her gun, but it wasn’t there, and the woman attacked like lightning. 

She leapt, bearing Peggy to the ground, and Peggy’s head hit the floor, sending stars flashing behind her eyes. Her body, though, was moving on instinct. The woman was a professional fighter, that much Peggy could tell, but Peggy was an expert in fighting dirty.

She punched up under the woman’s throat with one hand, the other grabbing at the woman’s masses of fair hair. An easy weapon. She twisted her fingers, pulled, and the woman hissed through her teeth, which clattered together as Peggy’s punch found its mark.

The woman went back. Not completely, but enough and Peggy grabbed the leg of the stool, whirling it over her head to knock the woman the rest of the way. The woman kicked it aside, rolling and coming up on hands and toes.

Peggy had already grabbed the lamp and hurled that too. 

The woman dove aside.

She moved as smooth as silk, like a martial dancer, and all at once there was a knife in her hand. Peggy retreated back. She didn’t know this room. She didn’t know what weapons she had. She was backed up against the dresser.

The woman hurled the knife, but her eyes gave her away and Peggy spun, avoiding it.

Her headache was blinding, and she felt the woman crash against her back, her arms trying to tighten around Peggy’s throat in a headlock. Peggy forced one hand up, holding the woman’s arms far enough away and with her other hand, grabbed a bottle of perfume. The glass was delicate and it smashed beautifully when it hit the woman square in the face.

She didn’t scream.

She was just gone, like that, leaving Peggy gasping on her knees, blood running down her face, her throat bruised, and broken glass and blood scattered all over. 

Peggy crumpled against the dresser, fighting back the blackness on the edge of her vision.

“Peggy? Oh my god! Peggy!”

The girl from next door.

“I’m quite well,” Peggy murmured. “Don’t mind me.”

 

___________________________________________

 

She woke up in the hospital again, and this time, Sousa was the one waiting by her bedside.

“Morning,” he said, pushing the table towards her with a glass of water.

She winced. “Is it?”

“Mm. You want to tell me what happened?”

She could see her right hand was bruised and blackened, and her left was stitched where the glass must have pierced her skin. “I was accosted,” she said finally. “I don’t know who she was, but she seemed to know me.”

“She?” Sousa’s eyebrows rose. “A woman did this?”

“You’d be amazed what we can do,” she murmured. “Blonde. Tall. I would say she had trained as a dancer at some point.” She breathed slowly in and out. “But that’s not the only reason you’re here, is it?”

“You were carrying photographs,” he said finally. “Taken in the SSR labs. You got any idea why you had them?”

“I wish I could say,” she admitted. “I’ve found no camera in my possessions. Perhaps I uncovered a traitor?”

“Maybe.” He sounded unconvinced. He leaned closer. “Carter, this doesn’t look good. The Chief heard about the photos when you were brought in. They aren’t happy about it. You gotta give me something.”

Peggy closed her eyes, leaning back against the pillow. “The woman, she knew where the photographs were. Maybe she put them there.” She shook her head slowly. “I don’t know what more use I can be. I only know that she was playing a part, and dropped her mask when I saw her scars.” She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Why would she do that, unless I knew something about where her scars came from? Where she came from?”

Sousa was staring at her intently. “What kind of scars?”

Peggy patted her wrist. “Like she had been cuffed,” she said. “Long enough for the manacles to callus the skin.”

Sousa rose, staggering in his haste. “I think I know where she came from,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Hardly an option,” she murmured, closing her eyes. 

 

______________________________________________________

 

Apparently, while concussed and amnesiac, Peggy had accidentally uncovered a Soviet spy.

It was quite an embarrassment to the gentlemen of the SSR, who had been so hell-bent on chasing down Howard Stark that they had failed to notice the infiltration of the security by a Russian spy.

Peggy couldn’t quite follow the details, but it seemed the scarring matched a Russian facility they had recently visited. The conclusion was that she was free to return to rest and recover at the country house. The photographs were no doubt the Russian’s, they said, so she was in the clear and could go and get some rest.

Sousa offered to escort her down to the cab that would run her back to Howard’s house. They were waiting outside the hospital, and a thought stole upon her. 

“I was sure Edwin would have come,” she said.

“Yeah, well, the driver of a wanted fugitive was seen as a bit of a… problem,” Sousa replied.

She looked sidelong at him. “You don’t think Stark is as guilty as the rest of them,” she said. “Do you?”

“I think there’s something big and messy and complicated going on,” he said. “And I know for a fact those photographs were yours.”

She blinked in surprise. “You do? Then why am I not sitting in a cell?”

“Because of the big and messy and complicated thing,” he replied. “Stark’s letting you crash at his place. If the rest of the guys knew, they would call it being complicit. Way I see it, you got things done. You still are. May be you’re the best person to solve this.”

“Given that I can’t recall what ‘this’ is,” she said with a wan smile, “I doubt that.”

“You unmasked a Russian spy,” he said. “I doubt your doubt.”

She looked at him with a small smile, as the car drew up. “We both of us have something to prove, don’t we?”

He opened the door for her, and she was inclined to let him. “That’s life,” he agreed. “If you get any other pieces of the puzzle, let me know?”

She nodded. “I want to know as much as you,” she said. “You have my word.”

 

_____________________________________

 

Edwin greeted her at the front door.

“I think,” she said, stepping around him, “we need to talk.”

“About anything in particular?” he asked, following her back to the parlour. He must have been forewarned of her return, because a tea set was laid out.

She sat down on the couch and looked up at him. “Photographs of Howard’s equipment in the SSR laboratory,” she said. “I need to know precisely what has been happening, so I can protect myself, and anyone else who happens to be in my vicinity.”

Edwin was quiet for several minutes, then set about pouring tea.

He knew how she liked it, and he waited until she was settled before launching into the details of everything as he was aware of it, up to and including the fact that Howard had retained a vial of Steve’s blood, and that there was some great nemesis by the codename Leviathan bearing down on them.

Peggy’s cup shook against her saucer as she listened.

It was hard enough knowing Steve was gone, but to know that Howard had hoarded some of his blood and kept it a secret hurt too. There was good reason, but it also felt like something of a betrayal, especially when Edwin explained haltingly how Howard had lied in hopes of protecting her from grief.

Perhaps it had been to protect her.

Perhaps it had been to protect himself from the likelihood that she would want to punch him.

“The SSR are still convinced he had some part in it,” she murmured.  
Edwin hesitated. “Not entirely,” he said. “I believe they have evidence that has made them suspect otherwise. An Agent Dooley offered amnesty of a sort if Howard would tell his side of the tale.”

Peggy nodded. “He needs to do that,” she said at once. “In person, if he can, on his terms.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Jarvis agreed. “We just need to persuade him of that.”

 

_____________________________________________

 

It took some work, but eventually, Howard was persuaded to meet Dooley. It was neutral ground, and Sousa confirmed to Peggy that all agents were accounted for in the office before Howard went anywhere near the rendezvous.

She was sitting outside in the car with Jarvis, drumming her fingers on the dashboard.

“I would rather be in there,” she said.

“I know, Miss Carter, but patience is a virtue.”

She huffed. “Said the man who couldn’t listen to a simple instruction and disabled a milk float?” she said.

They were both silent for a moment.

“Jarvis,” she said hesitantly. “Did you disable a milk float?”

“I did, Miss Carter,” Jarvis said, and he was smiling. “You were most annoyed.”

She looked at him. “Why on earth would you do that?”

He gave her a virtuous look. “I was assisting you in the capture of Leet Brannis.”

“And there was a milk float involved? You didn’t mention that part before.”

He was smiling, but only the quiet, slight way she recognised as the equivalent of a broad grin on any other man. “I felt it rather reduced the dramatic mood,” he said. “Miss Carter, you do know what this means?”

Her eyes were pricking again, and she had to look away. “It means that my image of that evening is a good deal more odd than it initially was,” she said. In the reflection in the glass, she saw him raise his hand to pat her shoulder, but it never quite made contact, and was awkwardly lowered. “Thank you, Mr Jarvis.”

“Very good, Agent Carter. Please let me know when you recall the sewer.”

She had to turn to look at him then. “The sewer?”

His smile reached his eyes. “You will know what I mean.”

 

___________________________________

 

It came to her that night, the reek of the sewer tunnels, and a conversation they had there, and how pieces fitted together. Not all of them, because there were still gaps, but when she emerged for breakfast, she looked up at him.

“How is Anna?”

Jarvis positively beamed at her. “She’s very well,” he said. “Once this sorry mess is all done with, I think she would be very pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Peggy said. She picked at her breakfast, then said quietly, “I need to find Dottie.”

“Dottie?”

“The woman from the Griffiths. I remember her now. I think she was there because I was.” She hesitated. “I need to go back. I left something rather valuable there.”

“I’m afraid the room would have been entirely turned over by the SSR,” he said, frowning.

Peggy shook her head, remembering a hammer, a hole, a vial. “No,” she said. “I hid something there. Something Howard wanted. Something I have.” She could see light dawn. “I need to get it before she goes back to find it.”

“You think she was looking for the blood?”

Peggy shook her head. “I think she was looking for intelligence,” she said. “There are probably other operatives targeting other members of the SSR, but no one would suspect a woman. That’s why they sent her. If she got it…” She shuddered at the thought. “I can’t imagine what kind of weapons they could create with Steve’s DNA. They might even try to replicate the procedure on some other poor soul.”

Jarvis nodded. “Well, Howard is well on his way to clearing his own name,” he said, “so you needn’t worry about that. You can focus on Miss Dottie and the blood vial.”

“It sounds like a rather morbid recipe book, doesn’t it?” she said, getting up. “Would you be able to run me into the city?”

Less than an hour later, she was surveying the disaster area that had been her home.

The room had been stripped bare, mattresses torn open, chairs shredded. Every drawer had been pulled out and turned over. Her clothes were on the floor. Her jewellery box was broken, the small dancing figures snapped from their base. 

Even the picture of Steve had been tipped onto the floor. She bent, picking it up, trying not to let her fingers tremble. They still did.

“I’m afraid we cannot give you back your deposit,” Miriam said, “even for the price of uncovering a Russian spy in our midst.”

“No, I expect not,” Peggy murmured, looking down at Steve’s face. 

It wasn’t the most flattering photograph, but then, the flattering ones didn’t look like him. She liked him as he was, feeling out of place, squinting, fighting for every inch he got. That was the man she had loved and had lost twice now, each time as painful as the other. 

“Might I have a moment?” she asked. “I’d like to gather the things that aren’t damaged.”

Miriam’s lips pursed, but she nodded, turning and walking from the room.

Peggy waited until her footfalls faded, then darted over to the painting on the wall, lifting it down. The bricks were still where she’d left them and she pulled them loose one by one, revealing the orb that contained the vial of Steve’s blood.

Movement from the corner of her eye made her drop and roll just in time to avoid a sweeping kick. She bounced off the bed onto the floor, and came to her feet, the orb shoved into her waiting purse.

Dottie was between her and the door. 

Her face was a mess of healing cuts, and her hair was darker now, and tightly braided up behind her head. She wasn’t wearing the plain suits anymore either, but trousers and an overcoat. She certainly hadn’t come in the front door.

“Dottie,” Peggy said. 

Dottie smiled. “That has to be important.”

“You shouldn’t have come back here.”

The smile had a tight, fixed quality, and didn’t reach Dottie’s eyes. “Neither should you, Peg.”

Peggy considered her options. There was a gun under her skirt, against her thigh, but a move for that would make Dottie attack. She opened her purse. Dottie had seen the contents before, but she hadn’t seen the other additions.

“You want it?”

Dottie didn’t move. “Throw it to me.”

Peggy kept her eyes on Dottie’s, and wrapped her fingers around the round object in her purse. “And when I do, we both walk away from this.”

Dottie said nothing, only holding out her hand. 

There was a click and the grenade arced through the air.

Dottie had a split second to realise what she was about to catch, and dived for the hallway. She hit the floor, hands over her ears, and body clenched and foetal. Peggy leapt over her before the other woman realised it was a dummy. A souvenir, Peggy thought, smiling grimly, from the old days. Thank you, Steve. 

Dottie recovered quickly and Peggy could hear her running, coming after her.

Peggy only had the advantage of knowing all the best ways to slip in and out of the building. She slid down the laundry chute, bag clutched to her chest and rolled out in the laundry. She pushed her way through strung up clothing, up to the lobby and out into the street.

Jarvis was waiting, leaning against the hood of the car. She shoved him aside, knocking him to the ground, and scrambled into the car. It roared away from the kerb, leaving him sprawling in its wake, just as Dottie raced out the doors.

It was no surprise that the woman gave chase, first on foot through the weaving traffic then, as the traffic cleared, in a car. How she got it, Peggy dreaded to think, but she needed to be away from the civilian population.

She was on a mission.

They both were.

 

________________________________________

 

The docks were deserted.

Peggy was sitting on the hood of Howard’s car, her gun casually held in her hand, when Dottie drew up. She looked suspicious, and rightly so.

“You could just shoot me,” she said.

“I could,” Peggy agreed, “but then I don’t get answers.”

Dottie gave her a measured look that said clearly enough that answers weren’t going to be forthcoming, either way. 

“Give me the orb,” she said.

“I can’t,” Peggy replied. “I’m afraid I dropped it.”

Dottie frowned. “You’re lying.”

“And you weren’t paying attention,” Peggy said evenly.

She had her gun raised and fired before Dottie raised her weapon from her belt. It caught Dottie high in the shoulder, but she only staggered. A second shot took the other shoulder, enough to make it difficult, if not impossible, to raise a weapon. 

Peggy slid down from the hood of the car. “Did Leviathan send you?”

Dottie raised her chin in cool defiance. There was blood running down both her arms, dripping from her fingertips. 

“My associates will be coming soon,” Peggy informed her mildly. “One of them tends to be very good at getting answers out of people.”

“Associates,” Dottie said with a snort of contempt. “Men who don’t look beyond the end of their own noses.”

“Then give me the answers.”

Dottie laughed, a brief, sharp sound, as if she was unfamiliar with the concept. “To what end?” she said. 

Peggy took a step towards her. “You know you don’t have to do what they order you to do, Dottie. You can make your own choices. You don’t have to be the weapon they turned you into.”

For a moment, Dottie’s features twitched. “And what would I be if I wasn’t that?” she asked. “Be a traitor to my country? To my people?” 

“You would be free.”

Condescension crossed Dottie’s face. “Gee,” she drawled. “You sounded just like Captain America.”

The reopened wound was still too raw, too fresh, and Peggy’s gun rose without conscious thought. “You would do well to leave him out of his,” she said. “I’m giving you a chance, Dottie. You can give us information in exchange for sanctuary. We know what they did to you. You don’t have to do what they want. You could be safe here. ”

Dottie raised her eyebrows. “You overestimate the appeal of your society. And it’s security.”

“You’d rather be locked up or dead?”

A slim shoulder rose. “There are worse things.”

“Where’s Leviathan? What does he want?”

Dottie’s pale lips pressed together mutely. She was paler, swaying. Loss of blood, no doubt. Her legs folded under her a moment later, and she went to her knees.

“I can help you.”

Dottie looked up at her, and for a moment, she looked younger, fragile, frightened. “No, you can’t,” she said. She tried to put out her hand to catch herself when she fell forward, but the wound on her shoulder made it difficult, and she landed hard on her shoulder.

Peggy moved forward cautiously.

Dottie’s face was ashen, and her eyes had rolled up, but Peggy knew better than to trust someone who was clearly skilled at deception. She kept her gun trained on Dottie’s head, as she slowly crouched and reached out her other hand.

It was no real surprise, when Dottie’s hands snapped up, one catching the gun and jerking it up towards the sky, as the heel of the other slammed beneath Peggy’s sternum. Something hard and metallic punched at Peggy’s chest, and she looked down. A wrist-knife, aimed at her heart.

She raised her eyes to Dottie, who smiled grimly and shoved her backwards.

Peggy hit the ground, folding in on herself instinctively. Her chest was aching, and Dottie was moving. She ran to Howard’s car, pulling out Peggy’s purse, and raking through it. Peggy could hear her muttering, as she slowly got to her feet, her gun still gripped in her fingers. 

“I told you,” she said, low, “I dropped it.”

Dottie spun around, startled. “How…?”

Peggy raised the gun again. “You didn’t think I’d lure you into a trap without taking precautions?” she said. “I’ve seen one of your little classmates and what they’re capable of.”

Sirens were wailing closer.

Dottie glanced towards the river.

“Don’t,” Peggy said, holding the gun steady. “I don’t want to shoot you again, but I will if necessary.”

Dottie ran for the edge of the dock.

Peggy’s bullet caught her in the back of the leg, and folded the limb beneath her. Dottie crashed to the ground, but started trying to painfully crawl to the water’s edge. Peggy was on her in an instant, her knee in the middle of Dottie’s back, her gun at the base of Dottie’s skull.

“Don’t,” she said again, quietly. 

Dottie’s bloody hands scrabbled at the ground in silent rage. “You’ll get nothing from me,” she said. 

“I know,” Peggy murmured, then struck her on the back of the head. 

Dottie sagged beneath her. Peggy went through her uniform, disarming her. There were grenades, tiny, compact guns, blades, garrotting wires. The woman was a walking weapon. As much as she hated to do it, Peggy took out her cuffs and wrapped them around Dottie’s scarred wrists. 

“And I’m sorry.”

 

______________________________________

 

There was talk of a commendation.

Peggy knew it was nothing but hot air. The department would get the commendation. Her name probably wouldn’t even make it into any reports. Dottie - or whatever her name was - would be safely locked away and interrogated until she broke. 

Peggy looked down at the piece of cake she had bought herself. Whether for celebration or comfort, she couldn’t decide.

At least, she thought, Steve’s blood was safe again.

She had retrieved it from Jarvis, and found a suitable safety deposit box under an alias.

“What’s up, Peg?” Angie slid into the opposite side of the booth.

“Oh, you know,” Peggy said, forcing a smile. “Business as usual.”

Angie nodded with an expressive roll of her eyes. “Tell me about it,” she said. She jerked her head towards one of the tables. “I swear that guy hasn’t had a bath since VE day.”

Peggy laughed quietly. “You poor thing,” she said.

Her mind was elsewhere, though, on a young girl chained to a bed and conditioned to be loyal and to kill. There were at least ten years between Dottie and the girl they encountered in Russia. It made her shudder to think there might be dozens, perhaps hundreds more like her, judging by the number of beds in the school.

Angie was watching her. “Problem?”

Peggy shook her head. “Nothing you need to worry about,” she said, pushing her cake to one side. 

She got up, putting on her coat, and wondered, briefly, how peaceful it must be to be like Angie, with no idea of the violent and conspiracy-fuelled world of espionage, where her current great problem was a customer’s lack of hygiene.

Tedious, she decided.

There was a school, producing masterful female spies and assassins. That was the kind of challenge she wanted and needed to learn more about, and if she could, put a stop to it.

She picked up her hat. “Have a good day, Angie,” she said. “I ought to get to work.”


End file.
